Owning the Thomas Family - NSFW

[LeaT]

A Group RP for @Mistress Minny @LeaT @Oddlot

Character Thread

PROLOGUE
​

You probably don't recognize me, but you have seen me once or twice, though I doubt you would remember me. My husband is one of those mid level salarymen in your division. One of those that do just enough to not get fired but not nearly enough to move up the ladder like other men, and a few women like you. God how he complains about you even as I can see in his eyes that he thinks you are the sexiest thing ever. Even for me, it is hard to deny how sexy you are, and that confident expression you always have, so in control. It makes my knees weak, and though I am a straight woman, somehow your authority makes me kind of wet. I doubt you have much interest in older women, especially those that work for your subordinates, but it was impossible to not at least pay my respects. Frankly I have a hard time even making eye contact with you, but I do need to be polite, my husband really needs this job. Pardon my blushing, I really must be going, if that is OK with you of course.

You do not have permission to leave. eyes you with blue orbs of interest, uncrosses legs and slowly stalks to you, my high heels clicking on the hard floor, eyes moving up and down your body, smiling with assertive eyes.

Yes, I remember you, Lea. You attended the holiday party last year with your husband, Jack. Truth be told, it must be admitted that he's a rather mediocre fellow--his work as forgettable as his vapid personality. You, on the other hand ...

inhales as my thin yet strong fingers slide up your chest.

You stood out to me from the moment I saw you. I don't typically fraternize with my subordinates ... let alone their spouses. My time is too valuable to be wasted with the mundate prattling of the hired help. But, you--on the other hand--made me want to break my own rule. Do not presume to judge my interests, for the only thing the keeps your idle husband employed some days is the knowledge that we may meet once again. And, here you are ...

delicate hand turns dominant, slides down your upper chest to cup your breast, my painted lips open with desire ... whispers.

It's a shame you are a "straight" woman--I could find numerous uses for you. Uses that would exceed whatever lame and impotent excuse for sex you have with your so-called husband. Do you find yourself feeling unfulfilled at night? Hmmm?

takes your hand and gently lays it upon my bosom, full and heaving lightly with my breathing.

Such a pretty thing. And, you've already admitted that I arouse you ... your husband is, frankly, a burden to the efforts in my division. What are you willing to do to ensure that he is not tossed on the street where he belongs come next quarter?

I stop in my tracks, both aroused and intriqued by your strict denial of my ending my courtesy visit too soon. My eyes meet yours, but only for a moment before mine look down as if distracted by the sound of your heels, but really I can't hold your gaze. I give a weak smile as you say you remember me, flattered of course, but also a bit nervous about the attention. I glance towards the open door, I blush as you speak so dismissively of my husband and in a voice that could easily be heard by the others in the office. But I don't have the courage to try and stop you. I inhale sharply as I feel your hands on my chest, so inappropriate but yet I am paralyzed to try and stop you.

"No, never." I reply to your chastising about judging your interests. I still can't meet your gaze but my eyes follow your hands and I give a small squeak as your hand cups by D cup breast. Eyes go wide at your words as much as the openly groping me, again I think of the open door and how bold you are, so sure in your position. Anyone, my husband even could catch us and that fact only ads to the taboo thrill I feel at your touch and your whispered words.

"I'm fine, he is a good provider." I say without conviction and really avoiding the main thrust of your question. I know I should pull back as you raise my hands to your bosom. The fine material of your expensive outfit feels so rich compared to my off the rack dress, of course the flesh beneath makes my hands tremble as I can't resist giving the softest squeeze just to appreciate the firmness of your body.

I brave a look into your eyes as you say my husband is a 'burden'. Reflexively, and not really thinking of the consequences, I whisper. "Anything."

"That's good," I say, a victorious twitch lifting the right-side of my smile. The feel of my gently fondling hand leaves your breast, become straight and my fingers curl upright--my forefinger touching the underside of your chin and raising your gaze to meet mine. It's terrible to behold: full of power, blue and fierce atop a stunning face with red lips. "You wait right here."

My breast retreats from your tentative grasp, and the sound of my heels clicking echo about the room. The athletically-lithe, toned form of my body moves toward the open door, and you spy the sway of my hips as my confident strides take me to the open portal. My hands close the door, a click of the lock ensures our privacy. As I turn, my eyes meet yours and never leave them--not when my legs gradually move me back toward you, not when my arms reach behind my back to unzip my blouse. Your admiration of it was justified--the Saint Laurent garment cost more than the a month's mortgage payment on the pathetic house your husband "provides".

A black brassiere of delicate and scandalous design holds my breasts aloft as my blouse is placed on the desk. The pencil skirt I wear hugs my slender hips and thighs as your new Mistress approaches you. My words are whispers of bold intent, my fingers confidently yet slowly unbuttoning the front of your cheap dress.

"We're taking this off. You're more beautiful without it on--I will be buying you clothes to wear when you come visit with me, clothes you deserve. Our trysts will be a repeat occurrence."

Your top open, you feel my hands sweep up and over your shoulders, brushing off the course excuse for fashion you arrived wearing. My hands send the entire garment to the floor, making is create a circle around your sandaled feet. A curled finger returns to keep your attention on my eyes as my face draws near, lips parted. My hands cup the underside of breasts, still in your navy blue bra. The heat of my breath washes over you as my lips press seductively to yours.

It takes me a moment to understand that you have accepted my reflexive and impulsive response to the threat to my husband's job as consent. It was not meant to be, not by me, but as your finger prods my awed visage to yours once more, any question of my not obeying melts away in the rising heat of my core. I don't usually think of women as attractive in the way I might judge a man on first sight. But with you, the very word attractive seems inadequate to describe how I feel when I look at you. It is both frightening and exhilarating to have your attention. I can only nod dumbly as you tell me to wait there, my sandal clad feet feel cemented to the floor even as your elegant heels click their way to your door and close it. I feel the sound of the lock in my chest more than I hear it with my ears.

I gently rub my now empty hands against my dress near my hips, I feel the loss of contact with your breasts as if part of me is missing, incomplete. As sexy as your blouse looks, the sight of your bra clad breasts makes me gasp, I lick my lips nervously. While I edge you in sheer volume, your shape is nothing short of perfection, the expensive undergarment framing your bust like a masterpiece, focusing my eyes upon your beauty and not the garment itself.

I fear to think of the 'deer in the headlights' look I must be giving you as I watch those beautiful breasts jiggle ever so slightly with each step as you approach me. If I had any remaining independent thought or agency, I might protest your fingers unbuttoning my off the rack dress, instead I bite my lower lip as I feel the simple garment brushed from my shoulders. Your stare keeps me from even trying to catch and hold it to cover myself. Seeing you like this has probably been a recurring fantasy of my husband, an impossible dream and here I am living it.

I again nod, my jaw slack, probably not my most attractive pose by I am simply stunned by the sudden events. "Of course." I say with relief that I can't explain as you instruct me on the 'repeat' nature of our new found relationship. In any event, who a I to refuse your every want and whim?

Even the slightest effort to preserve my modesty would seem like an affront to your generous attention. My hands remain nervously at my sides, my body yours to pose or reveal as you please. I try to stand straight, with good posture, to put myself in my best light even if I feel as nothing compared to you. Again you prod me to look at you, I know I must be stronger but it is so hard to meet your gaze. Especially now with you so close, but I hold your gaze until I feel your lips press against mine and only then do I close my eyes once more and enjoy the sensual feel of your kiss.

The coveted vision of my intimate apparel must be a sight to behold. The eyes of the multitude--those weak, sniveling, undeserving masses--are always on your Mistress. They lust for what they fear, and fear what they know they cannot attain. And yet, you alone are graced with the intensely erotic reaction of being in my intimate presence. Your husband jerks off in the bathroom to the idea of me, and those stockings he keeps wanting you to wear are in pale imitation of my aura. I'm refined, poised, confident, and not afraid to promote an agenda based exclusively on what (and whom) my heart lusts after.

You are that blessed person, Lea.

My lips press to yours, my own heart pounding with erotic want and conquered want, knowing that my feminine kiss will be your first. At least, that is the version of unknown history that Mistress tells herself; you've done a marvelous job inflating my humility with raw ego, a lady can be exempt from the power-trip of turning a simple woman into a willing submissive.

Surrendering is the lost art of submission; most prefer to take, but to be given servitude in obedience is a prize worth more than gold. Our kiss stands as a testament to the corruptive glory of erotic desire, my hand lightly taking your jaw and loving your lips with my hungry mouth ... hungry for you, wanting to sate the lust Mistress has had to bury since Christmas.

You feel my hum into our oral embrace, my strong fingers--now delicate--touch the bare flesh of your upper bosom. Mistress weaves her tongue into your mouth with salacious, side-to-side motions as my fingers ride the ridge of your clavicles to your shoulders; slipping under your bra straps, my intrepid digits send them limp to hangs off your arms. Skimming the skin from your shoulder to the sides of your perked breasts, my teeth tugs at your lower lip as your cups and tugged down. Nimble touches address your bare breasts, your exposed mounds with your nipples being tapped while our french kiss concludes.

Mistress shifts to your side, slow and seductive--my hands surmounting each of your breasts before they can be felt behind your back. The released tension of your bra strap is followed by my hands slipping around you from behind, holding your breasts from underneath. The heat of my breath vents over your shoulders and neck, and my teeth tug at your earlobe.

"You belong to me now, Lea ... Do you want to be my good girl?"

Somehow, despite you having every bit of my attention, my mind makes the connection between you arriving as his new boss, and his sudden interest in my negligee. I have to wonder now if every time he asked me to wear those stockings if he was imagining you instead of me? Had I realized that at any other moment than right now, I would have been angry, jealous, hurt. But now, the warmth of your lips as they press against mine, it seems a trivial thing. How could I begrudge him his fantasy when all of a sudden the visage that is you is claiming me for her own?

I don't know, can't know, how your claim will affect me. Before I had felt the touch of my Mistress' hand upon my breast, I had never seriously considered a relationship with another woman. I would have simply dismissed the idea out of hand. But now, it seems as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. How it will affect my marriage, my husband's job, my own sense of identity, all are of little concern. You may have gained my attention and grudging consent with a tacit threat to my husband's job. But now, I can't imagine not throwing myself at you any time you so much as turn those brilliant blue orbs my way. It is not my first sapphic kiss, but it might as well be. The truth or dare driven kiss of my best friend at 15 years old was of no comparison to the feeling of your lips upon mine. Your lust both flatters and intoxicates me as I part my lips to surrender to your tongue's advance.

I shudder at the feel of my bra straps so seductively slipped off my shoulders, the feel of my heavy breasts losing some of their support from my cheap bra, embarrassingly crude compared to your intimate apparel. My nipples harden at your touch and it is my turn to moan into our kiss as your soft touches inflame my desire in a way my husband has never learned. I feel the fullness of my breasts exposed to the air and your touches, I pull my shoulders back, thrusting my bosom forward as if an offering to my Mistress, which they truly are. Already they and the rest of me belong to you, you need not even ask the question.

You move behind me, relieving the last support of my bra and replacing it with the warmth of your own hands. I feel unworthy of such a glorious garment as your delicate fingers, encasing the lower portion of my breasts even as the rest of my D cups overflow your hands. I lean back into you, wanting to melt into you, to be as close as I possibly can to you. All else is forgotten.

"Yessss" I slur the words as I agree wholeheartedly, practically drunk from your attention. "Please" I say, desperate to be everything you want me to be.

You are everything this Domme has ever dreamed of. <3

How easily your wrists fall to the direction of my hands, bringing them behind your back. Your elbows are bent obtuse so that your wrists cross right atop the slit of your ass."You keep your hands right there," you hear me whisper into your ear, soft and seductive.

Had I known that you would be mine, be undeniably perfect in acquiesced submission to me, your Mistress would have prepared for our encounter. Handcuffs, a riding crop, a blindfold, a strap-on dildo: my core clenches in unbridled anticipation of the myriad, titillating acts that will be our new normal. When you are with your Mistress, you will be filled with untold pleasure; when you leave my presence and return to your life, your husband -- you will be filled with the desire that comes from my absence. Mistress knows this all too well, as I shall pine for my perfect girl in perpetuity.

Heels clacking on the floor signals my movement, as well as the loss of heat from your back. The loss is short-lived, as you watch my hands disappear behind my lithe frame. Head held high, your watch my expensive lingerie loosen .. and fall forward to reveal my exquisitely-shaped breasts. The beam of my blue gaze never leaves yours -- how many day and night, random points during your mundane existence will the color of my eyes haunt you? My left breast rises as my extended arm drops the brassiere onto my desk, and my heels announced my slow approach toward your obedient patience.

My hard nipples -- betraying my lust for you -- graze against your own; the swell of our mounds lovingly press in mutual desire. The time away from your kiss has felt pains me like suffocation, and as my lithe hands eagerly fondle your magnificent breasts, you're treated to another french kiss of searing, erotic passion. Pinching your nipples between my thumb and knuckle impart a hint of the stimulation to come, but as our kiss deepens into a wave that threatens to transform into a tsunami, my affection suddenly breaks free. My mouth ajar, my lips swollen from the intensity of our kiss -- your ears easily detect the light panting vented, my respiration telegraphed by my rhythmic rise-and-fall of my cleavage.

The feel of my hand around your throat comes with confident want below your jaw, the web between my thumb and forefinger resting gently. The possessive gesture brings your face to mine, our blue eyes meeting as our tongues mingle once more in lazy love. The perk of your breasts bounced when my pinching fingers leave your bosom and travel south --- down to your panties. My frame lowers for a moment as your cheap underwear (another crime we will correct) slides down to your mid-thigh. Strong, knowledgeable, attentive fingers begin a regime of stimulation; your folds feel like silk from the moisture, and your clit a pearl atop the treasure of your womanhood.

"Mistress owns you," my harsh whisper states.

My breasts settle to their natural position as your hands release them, eliciting a small whimper of disappointment. I don't know what you expect of me, I only know that I crave your touch, your attention, and though I feel it is too much to hope for, your affection. I do feel as if I should be doing something with my hands, especially as you guide them behind me. My fingertips lightly brush along your thighs and hips, through that lovely pencil skirt that showcases your figure, especially when you walk. I've never mastered being comfortable in high heels, but you move so smoothly and authoritatively in them. As you cross my wrists, as if you plan to bind me like this, I curl my fingers in hopes of offering you some small fraction of the pleasure your very presence provides me. But alas, your skirt foils me and I can only nod and then, deciding it is disrespectful not to reply to your words reply verbally. "Yes Miss." I say in an uncertain whisper, not sure what else to call you, my mind too addled to recall your proper title or even last name. I dare not repeat some of the names my husband has called you, but it is clear now the true nature of his animosity, his obvious inferiority.

Another small whimper as I feel abandoned even by your brief departure. I watch in rapt adoration as you reach behind, I see the lovely bra loosen, but your breasts stay firm and pronounced, reinforcing the feeling that despite its obvious high quality, your lingerie is merely a frame for the masterpiece of your body. I still find it somewhat difficult to hold your gaze, those blue orbs are such an alluring hue, one I have never seen before. I know there are color contacts that can be quite fetching, but I've never seen anything like this shade, and almost instinctively I know they are natural. A color that belongs uniquely to you, as now do I.

My hands remain behind me, a little more difficult being they are not actually bound but I gladly expend the effort to please you. I visibly stand a bit straighter as I watch you approach. Again I thrust my shoulders back, thrusting my bust forward in offering. Larger I know, but not as exquisite as yours, I shudder over every imperfection that I am sure are obvious to your inscrutable gaze. But the brush of your nipples against mine makes my knees weak and I can feel my wetness seeping into my cheap panties. No man has ever excited me in this way.

I moan into your kiss, my tongue dancing with yours but every motion following your lead. If anything, my moans intensify with the pinching of my sensitive nipples. They are hard nuggets from your teasing and my arousal. My hands ache to caress you in turn but I fear to disobey you and keep my wrists pressed together as snugly as any binding. Your panting hints at the primal nature of your lust, I feel more than see the rise of your bosom as my eyes have closed with the heat of your passion.

My eyes open wide as I feel your possessive grip around my throat, something I would never even entertain from my husband. It is a little frightening as I don't know you all that well, yet. But I hold my position as your face presses close to mine. Again I feel unworthy of holding your gaze but you seem eager for me to do so and I comply. My breasts suddenly feel abandoned as your hand goes South and your face soon follows. I feel my panties being pulled, the wetness clinging slightly, I blush at how you must by now see the extent of my arousal both on my panties and my glistening sex. My knees buckle for just a moment as you touch me so intimately and skillfully.

Your harsh whisper imparts only what I shall call you, your ownership of me already established fact, at least in my mind. Still, to hear those words come from the same beautiful lips that had just kissed me so passionately is an answer to my unspoken prayer. "Yes Mistress" I say for the first time, but I expect, no hope, not for the last.

Being a trainer and (albeit, genteel) dominatrix gives me the pleasure of signaling to eager partners when they were allowed to act and what they can do upon release. That undercurrent had always resided within the femme élégante, and the notion often raises my lips in amusement {Mistress considers herself a modern day Séverine Serizy from Belle du Jour, only she never bothered with the illusion or drudgery of marriage}. Mistress proudly stands as an unrepentant, erotic minx in dignified woman's clothing who make all who encounter her tremble with sexual want. Hard is the burden of being a source of heat, like errant radiation, that passively makes {both} men and women's blood boil with pure, fear-laden desire.

A modest and reserved woman, Mistress sheds layers of armor when our lips and tongues meet and freely flow. I can hear you already panting softly, your hands dutifully bound in obedience behind your lower back --- able but unwilling to displease me by roving them over the contours of my beautiful, commanding figure. Mistress savors the slack in your jaw when my grip holds your throat, the gasp and slight struggle for respiration --- or is your breath betraying the extreme delight my fingers bring as they caress your neglected sex? Does your husband touch you this way? Does he know what it does to you? Is he even aware of anything other than riding your for seven minutes then rolling to the side {snoring asleep} once he's emptied himself like a lazy walrus?

Mistress's fingers {coated in your exquisite honey} find their way between your separated lips, making you taste yourself orally to suck and clean my digits. Does your mouth cling greedily? Do you like the taste of your pussy or are you consumed, instead, with a desire and utter need to prove your devotion to the one found worthy of your submission. The tight bind of my fingers pressing on the sides of your neck, Mistress smirks as her free hand unzips the side of her pencil skirt and lets it fall freely to the floor. The frail panties Mistress wears are scandalous, revealing a cleanly shaven pussy with hung lace as mere decoration for the perfection of my mons.

What love had filled Mistress's blue beam fades, as does the mirth in my smile. Mistress walks past your right side, still holding your throat and tugging you along behind me. You can hear the clicks of my deliberate foot falls as they migrate to my personal closet; you making the journey with your crap panties half-way down your thigh more humiliating than arduous. With a withdrawn, cold expression, Mistress opens the tall floor to ceiling door that reveals her personal space for storage; inside, you spy shoes, rolls of stockings, a formal dress and make-up kit, along with several trays of personal effects. The backside of the twelve-inch wide door hangs a tall, thin mirror.

The stark reality of who you are and what is happening comes to dawn with radical clarity, and the hand around your throat releases only to take the top of your red hair. You feel your head gradually directed downward, and Mistress's willful hand holds your waist to coax you to bend at an obtuse angle of her choosing. Stray, auburn tresses fall forward over your face as your ass is exposed to me --- the blue eyes that stare at you over your shoulder in the mirror desire to hear your cries of earned arousal.

A sharp slap makes your ass burn for a half-second ... then a second one. Each slap causes your bent form to lurch forward several inches, causes the stray hairs {not in my firm grasp} around your face to sway. Two more slaps on your round ass echo about my office, and it would be a miracle for your husband to not hear the harsh sound of skin-on-skin. But, no knock comes, no pounding demanding entry and an explanation of what caused the commotion --- or why you are stark naked with rose-tinted ass cheeks and fluid leaking down your legs.

"You want more ... DON'T YOU?" your Mistress asks. "Beg. Beg your Mistress to continue or leave the same way you entered."

It would be difficult for me, especially under the direct effect of your aura, to pin point what exactly it is that makes me crave your attention. Certainly that feminine sophistication that so surpasses my own or anyone I know. Your confidence maybe, I cannot say but whatever it is the potent mix of your many charms and commanding presence makes my knees weak and my nether lips quiver with desire even if I have no reason to expect anything but your derision. But even that would be something, better than being ignored completely by you, which is suddenly my greatest fear.

Yes I my struggle for each breath you deign to allow me to take but my panting is very much from your attention to my aching sex. My husband fumbles like a toddler attempting to play the piano whereas your fingers elicit a maestro performance as you strike each note of pleasure to perfection. My lips quiver with excitement as you play me like an instrument, tuning me to become your instrument. I fear that I am too imperfect an instrument for your talents but your touches bring me beyond pleasures I would have thought possible given my experience until now.

My lips still parted, my jaw still slack from my awe of your presence as I feel your fingers slide between. It takes me a moment to realize it is my arousal that coats your fingers. I suck obediently, not minding at all tasting that which you have brought forth from me, eagerly removing any residue of my imperfection upon your fine manicured fingers.

I hear the sound of the zipper and with my clothes scattered across your floor already can only assume it is your skirt. I hear the subtle sound of fine cloth sliding quickly over perfectly stockinged legs, but my eyes are too drawn to your blue gaze to look down and appreciate the masterpiece of your mons. Sight unseen I know it will be perfection and can only hope that soon I shall be on my knees worshipping at the altar of your glorious body.

As you escort me to your personal storage space, I hear the elegant cadence of your heels even as I walk in quick small awkward steps, my legs partially hobbled by my cheap panties halfway down my legs. Is it humiliating, no more than the contrast between us. My breasts jiggle with the awkward pace of trying to keep up. While my own appearance provides some shock as to how submissive I have become almost instantly, it is the contrast between us that is most breath taking. Mistress is everything that I am not, your confidence, your beauty, your fine lingerie, but mostly the air about you.

I breath easier but new tension fills me as you grab my full red hair. I watch as my breasts hang heavy as my body is bent forward, Mistress' hand holding my hips in place, my hands still held obediently behind. I fear I may simply fall forward but your grip on my hair keeps me upright. Our eyes meeting via the mirror keeping me reminded of my place and our roles in this dance.

I yelp at the unexpected pain across my ass, it surprises as much as it stings. I look in fear for a moment that I may have been too indiscreet for Mistress. But it is clear you are unconcerned at the noise, the slaps alone enough to be heard outside your door and even to my husband's desk. Once upon a time I might have expected him to come to my rescue but now it is as unlikely as it would be undesired. I can only imagine the unwelcome look we would give him.

"Yes" I whisper barely above a breath already knowing it is pitifully inadequate. "ahem" I clear my throat which is overcome with passion and your squeezes. "Yes." I say louder and more convincingly. But I know now what you want, you want me to beg loud enough for my husband to hear you. I suck in a deep breath and nearly shout. "Yes Mistress, please continue." I don't feel like I know much at this point, but I DO KNOW I don't want to leave.

 

[Oddlot]

From his tiny cubicle, Jack kept checking the time on his watch. It was a Rolex of course, given to him by Lea on his 40th birthday and has been his most prized possession ever since. Whenever he checked the time... stared down at its stylish and exceedingly expensive face, he was always reminded of his loyal and loving wife. 'How long has Lea been inside Ms. DeWitt's office?' he thought to himself. Sadly, he had not bothered to check the time when he observed Lea going inside earlier. Jack had just naturally assumed that whatever her business with the indomitable Ms. DeWitt that it wouldn't take long given how incredibly busy the boss lady always seemed to be.

As time continued to pass Jack was beginning to become even more concerned, "Whatever could they be discussing?" The timid man asked himself as he spoke under his breath. A few minutes later he once again stared down at his watch. "Oh, please don't let it be about that silly student charity auction at Samantha's school."

The auction was something he and Lea had discussed the previous night and Jack thought that he had convinced Lea that someone as important and as busy as Ms. DeWitt would not interested in something so commonplace. Deep down Jack nervously worried that Lea being in the office for so long couldn't possibly be a good thing. He always walked on pins and needles around the fashion harpy for fear of saying or doing something wrong that might set her off. But Lea he fretted didn't really understand or appreciate the need to be cautious and guarded around the woman not knowing her as he did. Jack continued to sit in his cubicle as he tried to concentrate on his work. He had a big deadline to meet, and worrying about Lea and Ms. DeWitt was becoming a major distraction that he couldn't afford.

As Jack fretted... he was becoming even more fearful that Lea would do something that would reflect badly on him. That he would be the one to pay for any real or imagined transgressions. For some reason around the office, he had long started to feel like he was the one blamed for anything and everything that went wrong in the office. 'Enough is enough...' he thought as he finally got the nerve to stand up and peek over his cubicle's partition. Just the top of his head and eyes emerged as he timidly gazed in the direction of Ms. DeWitt's office door. As he did so he suddenly heard what sounded like two sharp slaps that echoed about the entire office causing him to look up at the air vent located over his cubicle. The sound so unnerved poor Jack. Even more so when he noted that no one else in the office was paying any attention to it except him. Apparently, no one else had heard it or they were all simply ignoring it which didn't do a thing to make him feel any better.

Slowly Jack cautiously crept towards the office door. The closer he got the more he thought he heard those strange slapping noises. But that wasn't all... he also could hear the muffled voices of two women talking. Undeterred when Jack was close enough he pressed his ear against the door itself trying to make out what was actually being said. Slow on the uptake it finally dawned on him when he suddenly realized that the slapping sounds might have a sexual connotation attached to them causing his mind to start to wander. His ear still pressed up against the door Jack ran one hand through his thinning hair as he felt tiny beads of perspiration start to form on his forehead.

The thought of Lea committing adultery with a man had always left a sour taste in Jack's mouth, an uncomfortable churning in his belly. But the possibility that Lea might... with another woman was something that he had never once considered. Jack didn't think she was even attracted to women... she had never mentioned it before... not that he could ever recall. If Lea found herself becoming attracted to any woman... it would certainly be Ms. DeWitt... not that he could really fault his wife. After all, he felt a great deal of sexual attraction for his boss as well. At that point, his mind a maelstrom of possiblilities Jack reached down and began to subconsciously rub his crotch becoming aroused as he listened at the door.

"And what do you think you are doing?" A soft feminine voice with just a hint of a Russian accent asked rather pointedly as she stared at Jack!

His hand immediately darted from his crotch up to his chest... inside his heart had begun to beat like a drum with him in a near panic.

Jack gasping for breath turned to his side and saw a petite immaculately dressed college-aged woman standing there with arms folded in front of her chest as she scowed at him. Oddly enough he couldn't place her at all.

"I'm Jack Thomas, I'm a manager here and was just going to check on my wife... she's been inside with Ms. DeWitt a very long time!" He babbled on nervously as he offered his hand to the young woman to shake. "And you are?"

The young woman rolled her eyes as she looked down at his offered hand, the same hand that she had watched him rubbing his crotch with... like some dirty old man. 'What a perv,' she thought to herself.

Staring at his hand the young woman glared, "Ehhh as if!" She growled as she pointedly refused to shake his offered hand! Still looking down at it in disgust!

"I'm the new intern, Tatiana Maximova... and I just started two days ago. And I know exactly who you are! If your wife is inside then she's in a private meeting with Ms. DeWitt and I'm sure that you know as well as I do that when Ms. DeWitt is in a private meeting she is under no circumstance to be disturbed!" The young woman sighed... an exasperated expression on her face, her nose wrinkled up pushing her glasses upward.

Jack upon hearing the young woman say that she knew who he was oddly felt an upward swelling of pride at being recognized by someone that he had never met before... which somehow seemed to be his only take away from the girl's words and manner. He grinned widely and lowered his hand, "oh... it seems that my reputation precedes me. So who told you about me?" He asked curiously the tone of his voice bordered on pure arrogance which made it all the more frustrating for the young woman.

"Oh, gawd... just go away!" She sighed as she became more and more frustrated.

Not knowing how exactly to take the subordinate intern's command that he go away. He stared at her for a moment and not wanting to cause a scene Jack gave Tatiana a confused look and obediently turned tail and started to head back towards his cubicle when he heard her call out to him loudly, "no, no, no... for черт возьми go to the men's room first... and wash your hands... just your hands, please!"

Not really getting her meaning Jack nonetheless took a hard right and made a beeline for the men's room and disappeared inside. It would take a few minutes staring at himself in the mirror that her words would take on a greater meaning. He cursed under his breath as he began to wash his hands before returning to his cubicle to hide... his face deep red with embarrassment feeling like a fool! 'The little bitch' he thought to himself, the day could not possibly get any worse...

 

[Mistress Minny]

The sight of you {the wife of my worthless manager} willingly subjecting yourself to my whims, clearly stepping into territory that must be as terrifying as it is intoxicating. And yet, you remain and voice your consent to continue; it will be the last time I every ask your permission to do anything with or to you. My hearts shifts in emotional tenor from cold to chilled, and seeing your disheveled hair fall and hanging tits sway as I strike your pale ass cheeks fills me with unparalleled satisfaction.

"Keep your arms crossed behind your back," comes my quiet yet firm command. Still gripping the crown of your scalp in my firm grip, my hand around your wrists gradually slides down your spine to your backside. My fierce blue eyes casually glance down and revel in the obedience you so willingly demonstrate for me. How can a woman not fall in love with a gorgeous woman who throws herself at one's feet?

"You must realize by now that your husband, Jack, is an emotionally-retarded and spineless disappointment." The statement comes unbidden, uncontested. "I can't help but pity you," I say, incredibly honest. "I think that's why you wandered into my office." Perhaps, your subconscious motivated your sense of survival; you secretly crave what you've been missing all your life: strength and protective superiority. Taking a chance with more balls that your husband could ever conceive, you did the best thing imaginable by coming into my office. Mistress can be cruel, but she is merciful; such a cry for help will not go unheeded by your new owner.

Mistress slides her hand over your red rump, freshly tender from my gifted slapping. My hand still grips your red scalp {forcing you to stare at yourself, at the state of your life up until this moment} and the fingers of my hand at your rear embark on a southern journey. The oval rim of your vulva feels my teasing fingertips, each of your petals is touched with a delicate and petite sensitivity. The fluid nature of your sex enticing me to act sans patience, and without warning multiple fingers slip into your pussy and embed themselves. My tips wriggle and touch your inner walls, my thumb slipping up to your anus.

"Mistress plan on improving your life as of right now," I tell you. The sound of sloppy, liquid mess echo about my office, and my stocking leg brushes against your bare thigh. I wonder how long you will last until orgasm; and then, whether you will be able to muffle your outcry of complete bliss.

"Accept the pleasure your Mistress gives you ... but ask for permission before taking it," I command.

 

[LeaT]

My thoughts are a jumble, but I am more on instinct than conscious decisions at this point. My craving for your touch and your attention is both instinctive and powerful. I beg loud enough for my husband to hear as well as several of his coworkers outside your door. Leaning naked and vulnerable, my hair and breasts hanging freely for your pleasure. But it is my ass that is the focus of your attention at this moment. Each crack of your bare hand across my equally bare ass makes my body tremble reflexively at each loud crack that fills the office and filters beyond the door.

Trusting that you won't let me fall on my face, I obediently cross my arms behind me. The weight of my upper body now supported by your grip on my thick red mane. I would be surprised to hear your thoughts about my body and your love for me. I feel so unworthy in your presence, surprised you would like twice at me and my mom body.

I listen obediently as you ogle my flesh and speak to me. Your words would seem hurtful but for the truth that rings out of them. You can feel my small attempt at a nod of agreement as you hold my hair in your strong group. As you declare yourself my new owner, I have no rebuttal, it is a simple uncontested fact.

I instinctively grow even wetter as I feel your hand exploring my rear. Your expert touch on my most sensitive flesh is such a contrast to the awkward fumblings of my husband. I moan audibly at the sensation, unsure if it is proper but unable to contain myself. "Oh!" I cry out loudly as multiple fingers invade my silken core. I feel your fingertips on my inner walls, you know just how to touch me. My knees grow weak at the expert handling. "Mmm." I moan abruptly as your thumb slips into my anus in an most unexpected but pleasurable movement.

Mistress' words wash over me, revolutionary but undeniable. Your statements punctuated by the sound of my dripping wet sex being owned by Mistress' fingers. My addled mind puzzles over your statement as I'm not expecting to climax in my husband's boss' office. But my body is much more in tune with your actions even as my mind scrambles to catch up. Only at the last moment, as my climax begins to erupt to I catch your meaning. I shout out at the top of my lungs, easily loud enough for most of your staff to hear me. "Please Mistress, may I cum?"

 

[Mistress Minny]

A smile of wicked delight creeps across my face at the sound of everything we are sharing right now. Your little grunts and whines; the sloshing mess of your pussy, made immensely sloppy by my skilled hand; the lust and want, the desperation in your voice: has your husband EVER elicited such intensity, such pleasure in you before? The wonderment, the question is purely rhetorical as we both know that he's a deficient, incapable fool and simp. The way you cry out your request has my mouth in an open smile --- Jack will surely have heard the sound of his "devoted" wife begging for release, though he would not recognize her voice affected by anything approaching sexual fulfillment. I have a mind to refer to him {from this day forward} as a "eunuch", as he might as well be without equipment given his stunning inadequacy.

Your husband shall be he last thing on anyone's mind, as is the norm, as Mistress considers your request. The question isn't whether Mistress will allow you to find your bliss {for how could a proper dominant not put the cherry atop this supreme episode of sapphic seduction} but in what manner does Mistress prefer your climax to take form. So many options, and you surrendered yourself to me which makes you my property --- no one else gets to claim even an inch of you: not family, not friend, certainly not your impotent husband. You belong to me now ... now and forever.

"Not quite yet," is my answer.

Mistress breaks your complacency, your sense of expectation which is the first step toward the path toward entitlement --- read as weakness. The hand claiming the top of your scalp yanks you into an upright, standing position. The image of your full breasts sway in the narrow mirror for you to witness and me to enjoy. It strikes Mistress that your bosom has been largely neglected, and I intend to seize upon that oversight as you are twisted around to face me. My honey-coated hand swat at the sides of your mounds, the hand that was gripping your hair now around your neck just below the jaw to hold you fast.

You taste your nectar as my punitive hand slips between your lips, making you taste the arousal that only Mistress can produce in such ample quantity. We kiss --- HARD --- and my fingers return to showering your sex with manual attention until you are shifted to one side. Mistress maneuvers you to back up and close the door to my standing bureau, your back now against it.

"Hands flat on the door," comes my terse, erotic command.

Licking your juices from my own fingers, you are roughly groped as we kiss once more with unyielding passion; my pussy begins to ride your thigh as you feel your wet cunt ride my stocking-clad thigh. My blue eyes peer into yours with intensity as you hear your Mistress whisper.

"Cum for me ... cum for your owner."

 

[LeaT]

I had never dreamed that I could feel such pleasure, the only tempering is the realization that my sex life has been as nothing compared to this moment. Other than two beautiful daughters, my time with Jack has been in comparison bereft of joy and pleasure. My body can barely contain the intensity of erotic lust instilled by Mistress as I struggle to keep my legs under me. I find myself actually hoping he can hear me through the door, I hope the whole office can hear me. Mistress may as well branded her name across my cleavage as her ownership of Mrs. Thomas is beyond question and I have barely been in your office a half an hour. What is nearly 3 decades of marriage compared to the Sapphic bliss that Mistress has stirred within me. It is hard to think of his pathetic attempts at lovemaking with anything but derision nearing the point of pity. But it is I that should be pitied for wasting so many good years with him.

But Jack is forgotten, as he should be, as my climax can no longer be denied. Or so I think. As inevitable as my orgasm seems, I hear 'not quite yet' from the only voice that could possibly reach past all this pleasure and arousal. I bite my lower lip and have to stop myself from drawing blood, but the pain helps me regain some sense of control. I don't know how Mistress can ignore the pleading look I give her, reflected in the mirror as we both watch my full breasts on display.

My eyes plead their case directly as Mistress spins me about but it is not the release I crave that meets me. Instead I feel Mistress strike my heavy breasts with a force Jack would never dream of using on me. His gentleness seems pathetic in the face of the delicious abuse Mistress applies to my body.

My lips part as I try to work up the nerve to beg Mistress for my release. Instead I am rewarded with the taste of my own arousal from Mistress' fingers. I only have time to take a few quick breathes before Mistress fingers are replaced with the most luscious lips I have ever tasted. I moan into Mistress' mouth as fingers return to my overheated sex.

I feel my back against the door and have no recollection of how I got here. Without thinking I comply, hands flat on the door, my body there for Mistress' taking. Mistress presses against me our soaking sexes riding each other's thighs. Feeling the stocking clad bliss of Mistress' thigh against my swollen clit and dripping folds, I realize how unnecessary any other anatomy is right now.

I have never been fucked like this before and I'm almost too far gone to even register the words but even at a whisper, Mistress' words pierce through even this bliss. Mistress' permission to cum is like a blessing upon the undeserving and I want to weep with joy to have found such pleasure. But it isn't consent, it is a demand, one that I eagerly obey. I practically scream out my release as my body rattles the door and my breasts press forward as my back arches. My hips rub almost violently along Mistress' stockings. I don't stop screaming in pleasure until all the air is expelled from my lungs and still my head is thrown back and my mouth wide though silent. My eyes roll back and I fear I will pass out but eventually my brain stem gets some message to my lungs to force me to breath. Sucking in air as if nearly drowning I gather enough breath to whimper "thanks you Mistress, thank you thank you". As tears run from my eyes, tears of joy and pleasure and gratitude.

 

[Mistress Minny]

No sound had ever been as beautiful as your cry of pleasure. So vocal and primal, unrestrained -- no, unrestrainable in intensity and raw in honesty. I feel as if my mission is holy, as I've brought an uninitiated into the throes of the divine bliss of utter, sapphic climax.

But, the train of your sexual awakening has only paused; Mistress clicks her heels as they search for solid footing, my wetness propelled by taut, stocking-clad legs as your new owner rides your thigh. And, why shouldn't I claim what's mine? The lurid dance we fornicate is but an appetizer to the wider debauchery that will encompass our lives. Our new life, for there is no turning back now --- no way to unfeel the utter attraction and indelible mark we've made upon one another. Even if you had informed me that you'd made a mistake and changed your mind, I would not let you. My obstinance would be fueled {not only by my mercy in allowing you to return to a man beyond sub-standard} but by my refusal to let you walk in this world unclaimed by someone you deserve.

The world may burn around us, but {by God} you will know beyond a shadow of any doubt that you belong to me. As such, your Mistress intends on fully playing with and utilize her belongings to the maximum. And use you, I will.

Before your senses return, and the reality of what awaits you outside my office conjures into your mind, you find yourself foisted up on by my wanton desire for you. Mistress shows you how a real person {regardless of gender} fucks someone --- shows them that they cause an unquenchable fire to burn that flares out of control when passions boil over. Your red hair is once again in my hand, our breasts touching and mashing as we lose ourselves in sapphic fornication: where my lips ravage the side of your neck ... my fingers work your clit and lips, all while Mistress grinds on your thigh until her orgasm consumed us both.

That is the nature of our beast, is it not? Your excitation is my achievement, and my bliss is your duty. Clear standards and objectives divide the weak-minded from the supreme, optimized potential that sex offers like a clarion call. As a madam in the whorehouse of my harem, you are my consort of choice --- the only regret is that you are lawfully associated with the miserable man who would give anything to be pressing his ear to my door. Does he know that he's lost his wife? That Jack realize that, despite the perverse logic of his narrow-minded intellect, he lost Lea years ago but neither of you realized it at the time? What I'm doing to {sharing with} your wife is the natural consequence of your ultimate and inevitable failure. You cannot hate the messenger, when the truth has always been you will never be good enough for this woman's desire.

Halted breaths make my carmine-painted lips open and my blue eyes stare into yours. The hold on your scalp tightens as my nectar-coated hand wraps around your throat ... just as my pelvis jerks quickly on your thigh, hyper-slick from my leaking juices. "Ohhhhhh God!" you hear me cry out. Our lips crash together as my cunt gushes its honey down your leg, marking you are mine, mine, mine.

Mistress is trembling at how good you've made her feel, the high you've enable her to achieve. The hand at your throat releases but only to fill your mouth with your lubrication. Your lips now tainted with the sweetest of honeys, Mistress french kisses you with a passion you've never imagined possible. My blue eyes stare, as if on fire, into yours with a glazed expression yet still in command.

"We're doing this again ... as often as possible," I manage to say, despite being breathless and exultant with aroused pleasure. My warmth leaves your upper leg as I dismount and step to the side, the click of my heels audible as Mistress maneuvers behind you and whisper into your ear.

"I want you to get dressed, but leave your undergarments here. Wait until I am dressed and then exit my office and find your husband ... take him home and tell him nothing of what we've done. Feel no shame but supremely calm. You're owned by someone who matters now. He will smell the scent of our sex ... but tell him we only spoke at length about matters that do not concern him. He will want to have sex with you, but you will refuse him ... he is not worthy of you."

Mistress turns your face to gaze over your shoulder. "Do you understand, my Dove?"

 

[LeaT]

My legs tremble as I struggle to stay upright, practically collapsed against the door as Mistress rides my thigh to her own climax. Not imagining I can feel any more pleasure without my heart bursting in wanton lust and affection, Mistress reminds me just how unfulfilling what passed for my life before today has been. Your kisses, your touches, your fingers thrusting into my soaking wet cunt, each thrust stoking my passion until it burns white hot inside of me. The only thing keeping me on my feet is my desire not to displease this goddess who has claimed me. I know not what I have done to deserve such divine attention, but I accept such grace without question.

As the bliss of our mutual climaxes finally begins to fade, I am left panting as if having run a marathon, a slight glisten of perspiration on my chest and cleavage. My breasts slightly pink from mashing against Mistress'. My world has contracted to nothing more than the small space between Mistress and I, she has become the center of my universe. The office workers outside, my husband among them, even my own daughters are temporarily forgotten as I bathe in the glow of Mistress' last surge of pleasure and feel her climax run down my thigh as if baptizing me in her glory. It is almost too much to behold, I feel my heart may stop in my chest as I watch that beautiful face, disbelieving I can possibly be the source of such pleasure.

I taste my arousal from your fingers then more kisses as we savor each other, hoping this moment will never end. I nod readily as you tell me we shall do this again, and often, as how could I deny myself or my goddess such a wish? I nod obediently at your instructions despite the agony I feel at being dismissed even with the promise of more. My undergarments hardly a worthy sacrifice but cheerfully given as I leave them be as I pull my off the rack dress back on my still quivering body. My nipples protrude obviously from the material without my bra, my pussy still dripping wet from arousal.

I watch coyly as Mistress dresses, her every motion a study in grace and beauty that I couldn't hope to emulate. Why this goddess finds even the slightest interest in me is beyond my comprehension, it is as if a dream I know I am doomed to awake from in the morning.

I smile like an excited school girl when Mistress calls me "Dove" for the first time and I hope not the last. "I do Mistress." I say as if suddenly realizing I am being addressed by my goddess.

I straighten my dress though it is beyond wrinkled, my unsupported breasts jiggling with each step of my still unsteady feet as I head out of the office and the sudden realization I do indeed have a husband. I do not even try to hide the look of sheer sexual satisfaction as I open the door. It is impossible to try and pretend that everyone in this room didn't have a pretty damn good idea of what has been going on inside Mistress' office. But I do as I have been told and do not acknowledge anything. While I manage to mask most of my feelings of sexual satisfaction, my look of disappointment as my eyes fall upon my husband is clearly seen.

"Take me home." I tell Jack as I reach his desk, despite the fact that my car is here as well. I don't trust myself to drive in the state Mistress has left me. I stick to the script on the way home, 'matters that didn't concern him' was my reply. The scent of sex is unmistakable as I tell my husband to make dinner when we get home. I go up to our room, I shower and change clothes not ready to face my daughters smelling of another woman just yet. Nothing special, just sweats, looking as unattractive for my husband as possible. I know him well enough to sense his arousal and do not look forward to sleeping in the same bed as him for the first time since we married.